Bees, Flowers and Fireflies
by Shylah
Summary: CROSSOVER: SpikeFirefly The Academy wasn't the government's only dark secret. UPDATED. . . Mal meets with a prospective employer, and Spike's captivity continues.
1. Prologue

Title: Bees, Flowers and Fireflies 

Author: Shylah

Warnings: Violence, torture, mind control, sexual situations

Disclaimer: They're Joss's, not mine.

Summary: CROSSOVER (Spike/Firefly) The Academy wasn't the government's only dark secret.

Prologue

He always seemed to get the short straw. The original doctor who had the responsibility for this task had not been able to work today. An illness, or something similar, had put him out of commission. So those in charge had felt it necessary that they replace the unavailable doctor with one of few who headed the first division of their program. Just until the one to whom this job had been assigned got back on his feet.

Doctor Jackson Mathias felt the hairs on his neck stand on end as he neared the room known as the Hibernation Chamber. A quick finger and retinal scan had the many locks on the door sliding open. He grasped the handle and opened the door, his back stiff as he entered. Like the rest of the facility, everything inside the room was kept sterile and brightly lit. There were rows of cryogenic containers, stacked in twos and gleaming silver in their lines. It was quiet except for the constant low humming they emitted.

But the outward appearance of the room only served to amplify Mathias's feelings of disgust and terror. There were things in here...unclean things. He would have refused coming here entirely if he hadn't known that there would be no need for him to be near them after this. The only task given to him had been to oversee the slow rise in temperature of the cryogenic containers, to see that the subjects within were stable as they neared the range when they could be safely brought back to the conscious world.

It had been rumored among the staff that these chambers had not been opened in over a century.

Mathias moved along the rows, checking each container as he went, typing down quick notes on his electronic clipboard as to the progression of the thawing. There was no listing of respiratory or cardiac vitals, only neurological. It made keeping track easier, but caused shivers of disturbance to race down his spine every time he thought about it.

No breath. No hearts. No souls.

The doctor quickened his step and hand, wanting to get out of this room as soon as possible. The boxes all blinked green at him as he passed them, as if they were all watching him, and mocking his fear. He was nearly halfway through when a shrill beep caused him to start and nearly drop his clipboard. Turning slowly, he looked with wide eyes towards where the sound emanated.

One of the cryogenic chambers in the far corner of the room was blinking red in tune with the continued beeps of the alarm. Swallowing hard, he approached it slowly, bending down slightly so he could get a better view of the listed information on the small screen on its side. He felt his heart begin to hammer in his chest as he read, and quickly straightened once he finished, hurrying over to the wall where a keypad was set. He pushed in a quick sequence before gazing back warily at the cryogenic chamber, telling himself over and over that those more suitable for dealing with this would soon be arriving. But it still did not serve to allay his fears, and he felt himself begin to sweat, his eyes trapped fixedly on the still-beeping container.

That one was waking up.

--------

Berkant Ramsden folded his arms over his chest as he watched the scientists perform a close examination of the cryogenic chamber. There really was no need for it, for as primitive as these chambers were in comparison to the present models, they had been programmed and stored by what had to have been some of the best minds on Earth-that-was. Yet, there was always the chance of problems developing, both anticipated and not. So before they were opened, each piece of machinery on the containers was looked over by an assortment of dedicated workers.

And they had to be very dedicated, he knew. There were more than enough of those who would absolutely refuse to be in the same building if they knew exactly what was going on. Only a select group were allowed access to the knowledge needed to properly carry out orders pertaining to this program.

Ramsden himself was currently overseeing the procedure from behind a shield-enforced extra strong slate of glass. He, perhaps, had the least fear of all when it came to his job. But that did not mean he was willing to put himself in a potentially dangerous situation. A reckless man would not last long in this line of work.

Shifting, Ramsden felt his attention narrow in focus as the scientists alerted him that there were no detectable issues with the cryogenic chamber's function. They were ready to open it. Ramsden nodded, and the scientists moved back to allow those who had been professionally trained in handling the subjects move forward. The large clamps that held down the lid of the cryogenic chamber were unlatched, and there was a loud hissing sound as it was lifted. It took two men to successfully remove the lid, and as they did the others came closer to execute their own tasks. They had to work quickly, for the subject would soon revive itself, and Ramsden had no desire to drug it again so soon.

Two reached in at opposite ends, and as one they lifted the limp, nude body within and set it supine on the examination table, hurriedly strapping it down with adjustable metal restraints on wrists, ankles, thighs and chest. Ramsden made his own mental observations even as the scientists on perimeter of the room checked the meager notes that had already been made the last time this subject was awake, years and years ago. It was extremely pale, as many of the others before it had been. Its hair had been dyed an extremely pale blond, but there were darker, brown roots were showing where they had grown out at the scalp. Its muscles were greatly defined, but compared to the others it did appear to be the slightest bit malnourished -- nearly undetectably so. And it was male.

It was perfectly preserved, all cellular functions having been placed in absolute stasis.

The creature's face was lifted from the examination table, and one of the orderlies quickly forced a muzzle over its mouth. The muzzle was a self-locking device that could be removed only by a specialized key, and kept the handlers of the subject safe from snapping jaws.

Once secured, the scientists moved in once again, assured that they could now come in contact with the creature without risking harm. One man peeled back each eyelid to check that the pupils contracted normally, while another slid a needle into a pale arm to draw blood.

"How is the latest specimen?"

Ramsden quickly glanced behind himself, feeling a spark of surprise due to having been so engrossed in the proceedings he did not hear this new arrival step into the room. He allowed a small smile come onto his face at the sight of one of his colleagues, a woman named Eileen Mather. She wore a grey suit and skirt ensemble, and her black hair was pulled back into a tight bun. A relatively new employee of this particular program, this would be her first time seeing a subject so soon after being removed from its state of hibernation.

"It appears well." he commented, turning to gaze back into the exam room. "No detectable physical deformities, so far. It should be coming around soon enough."

As soon as he finished, the body on the table gave a sudden violent jerk, eyes flying open. The creature blinked, glancing around in confusion. It took in its surroundings and the scientists who continued their initial tests as if it had not regained consciousness, eyes wide.

"It looks disoriented." Mather noted.

Ramsden gave a small nod as he watched the subject's increasing distress. It attempted to thrash away from the attentions of the scientists, but the restraints forcefully held it still. "The last time any of them were conscious was in an entirely different century. Much of the technology we have now is either completely new to them or heavily improved upon. They were put to sleep even before the first functional space ship was created."

Mather stepped closer to the glass, her eyes widening in curiosity and amazement. "So similar to humans." she murmured.

"They are." Ramsden agreed. "In fact, to the naked eye, their true nature is completely undetectable, externally -- save for when they transform."

"Have you seen one? Transform, that is." Mather's eyes were still locked on the creature on the table, which was now making muffled noises and jerking its head as if to indicate a plea for the removal of the muzzle.

"I have. Would you like me to show you?"

Mather glance at Ramsden briefly, before nodding. "Yes."

Ramsden leaned forward and pressed a finger to the intercom button. "Apply a pain stimulus." he ordered.

The creature turned its face towards him at his words, seeing he and his colleague for the first time. Blue eyes quickly scanned over the two observers standing behind the glass, before locking onto Ramsden. The man leaned forward, intrigued. None of the creatures had expressed a particular interest in watching him before now. They had been too wrapped up in their own fear and confusion to even react to the sound of his voice, most of the time. This one's eyes beamed instinctive intelligence, and something else. Something none of the other creatures he had seen possessed.

One of the scientists pressed a rod against the subject's abdomen, and activated it. Convulsing as a painful shock was administered, the creature gave a growling scream from behind its muzzle and then the bones in its forehead began to shift. Ramsden heard Mather give a quiet gasp as the once blue eyes turned yellow, the pupils mere pinpricks.

The rod was removed and the creature relaxed, its chest heaving and eyes angry as it turned to look at the scientist who had harmed it. A menacing growl came from deep in its chest, and a few of the scientists paused for a moment at the sound before resuming their work, remembering that the creature was helplessly restrained.

Ramsden gave a small sound of surprise. "That's refreshing." he said. "The previous specimens all reacted fearfully after the first application of pain. This subject must have a higher pain tolerance, or a strong will. We'll train the defiance out of it, mold those strengths to our own needs." He pressed the intercom button once more. "Apply a pain stimulus, again. Higher, this time."

The creature knew what was coming, and braced itself as the rod touched flesh again. It moved its eyes back onto Ramsden, keeping them locked on him even as it tensed and gave another loud snarl at the pain, jerking spasmodically against the restraints as it received a harsher shock. It went limp against the table as the jolt ended, inhaling shallowly through its nose. It glared at Ramsden as it attempted to deal with the second, more intense dosage of pain.

"It doesn't seem to like you, Berkant." Mather remarked.

Ramsden stared back at the creature, his eyebrows furrowed. "There is something different about this one." he said. "Something that goes beyond simple personality. There's more power in its eyes. More strength. And something else..." Ramsden shook his head in frustration. "I'm going to ask if I may monitor this one's progress more closely."

"There's no denying its ferocity." Mather said, still in awe at her first viewing. "I would not certainly wish to be alone with it, restrained or not."

"That's the difference between you and I, Eileen," Ramsden stated as he finally turned to grin at her. "I can't wait to be."

--------

Spike tried to keep back the tremble from his limbs as he found himself waking up for a second time in this horrible place, along with the realization that he hadn't dreamt the first time. He found himself imprisoned in a small room with blaringly white walls and bright lights. He had been zapped more than a few times, and his body had been weakened from the extended torment. But he had kept most of his anguish within, not allowing them the satisfaction of seeing the true extent of his pain.

Spike inhaled deeply in preparation and rolled over from his position on his back, pulling himself onto his hands and knees. He paused as a wave of dizziness assaulted him, keeping his arms locked in an attempt to resist the urge to lay back down. Finally he found himself able to stand, steadying himself against a wall as he lifted himself onto unsteady legs.

He glanced around, taking stock of the area while his body recuperated. There was a single, metal door on the opposite side of the room, with a large square of tinted glass in the upper middle. Anyone could peek in without being detected by the occupant of the cell. Which was him, at the moment. Spike gazed around again, seeing nothing but white walls and an equally as white cot.

He had been trapped on that table for a good while before someone finally drugged him back into sleep again. They had dressed him while he was out, in strange garb that looked like something out of a science fiction movie. It was a skin tight uniform made of some sort of flimsy-looking grey-blue material. The sleeves of the shirt reached down to his wrists, the legs of the pants to his ankles. The collar dipped into a v-shaped neckline at his chest.

Spike felt himself grow angry, and a bit scared. But more than anything he felt the frustration that was clamping on his chest like a vice. Why couldn't he remember how he had gotten into this predicament? And where was he? Some sort of giant laboratory? It looked like the Initiative on steroids.

But the Initiative had never thought to keep him in chains, especially while locked in a cell -- cumbersome chains on his neck and wrists, each leading to separate holes in the wall behind him. And then there was that blasted thing on his face, locking his jaw shut. The chains allowed him enough maneuverability that he could feel all along the contraption, trying to find a way to release it. When that effort had proved futile he had resorted to clawing at the damn thing, trying to rip it off. But it held firm, and he eventually slumped against the wall in frustration, pissed off.

What the bloody hell was going on?

He was in some sort of experiment, that much he could tell. These humans seemed to know what they were doing. But for what reason they had to keep him here, he didn't know. Nor did he know if he was the only demon here, but he suspected not. They wouldn't have gone through all of this trouble to pick up a single vampire, would they? Unless they knew more about him than he thought they did. But usually when he had been taken prisoner, one of the favored taunts of those who held him involved reciting information about his life to him. None of the people here had so much as called him by any of his names, or shown any indication at all that they knew he was "special." Not that he held any hope for release in the area of revelations. Especially not if they decided to deny him the ability to speak.

He was too angry at the moment to be truly fearful. They hadn't done anything to him yet besides freely examine his body for their research, prick him with a few needles, taken various X-rays and scans, and given him a couple shocks on command. That man he had seen behind the glass appeared to be running the show. Or, at least, the pain aspect of it.

Spike made another sound of anger and gave a second aborted attempt at pulling off the muzzle. He didn't like the feeling of it on his face, didn't like knowing that there was no way for him to communicate with his captors through words. And underneath that ire he could feel an undercurrent of anxiety beginning to gnaw at his stomach. He had never been good with being in captivity, especially if there wasn't anyone around for him to vent his frustration on. Being alone made him want to succumb to his more animalistic reactions, and he found himself fighting the rising urge to bang his face against the wall to try and break the contraption.

But before he could even attempt it, there was a strange shifting sound that came from behind him. He turned, startled, realizing that there was something going on in the wall. Spike felt the wide shackles on his wrists begin to tug on his arms even as he realized that the chains were being pulled back through their holes. Feeling the starting of true fear now, Spike strained his arms, trying to prevent them from being pulled apart. His concentration was broken when the collar on his neck was suddenly drawn towards the wall as well, choking him. Despite his struggles, he was forced to turn with his back to the wall, helpless as his arms were steadily forced straight out on each side of his body and his neck was brought flush against the hard, cold surface. He was breathing heavily through his nose when the noises in the wall finally stopped, and gave a few ineffectual attempts at struggling against his bonds.

He froze as the door to his cell was opened, and watched as two large, muscled men stepped inside to stand on either side of the entrance. They were followed by a man in a white lab coat with dark grey hair, who gazed at Spike as soon as he stepped in. Spike recognized him as the man behind the glass.

He approached the bound vampire, one hand in the pocket of his coat and the other holding a metal rod-shaped device that looked similar to the thing the other scientist had used to electrocute him.

Spike kept his gaze steady and defiant, clenching his hands when the man finally stopped about a foot away and looked him in the eyes. He kept back the growl that wanted to emerge when a hand came out and grasped his chin, just under where the muzzle ended. The scientist brought up the object he held, and waved it over the front of Spike's face. There was a beep and a hiss, and suddenly the muzzle's metallic straps released.

The man took the contraption from his face and placed it in his pocket, and Spike felt a tinge of relief when he realized that it probably wouldn't be replaced any time soon.

He glared at the scientist, waiting for some sort of introduction as to why he was here and all of the horrible tortures they were going to put him through for the sake of mankind or because he needed to pay for his past crimes or some other such bollocks. But the grey-eyed man seemed content with just staring at Spike, a sort of half smile on his face as he did.

Finally, feeling the hairs on his neck beginning to stand on end from the uncomfortable scrutiny, Spike heaved a dramatic sigh. "What do you want?" he asked, forcing disinterest into his voice.

The man's expression slipped into a full smile. "Boredom," he commented, "that's a reaction I haven't yet seen from any of the others. And you speak English, which saves me the trouble of getting a translator." He ran a hand through his grey hair. "Hello. My name's Doctor Berkant Ramsden."

Spike sniffed. "I'd shake your hand, but..." He shrugged as best he could with his limited mobility.

"I'm afraid those are a completely necessary component to our conversations, at least this early on." Ramsden stated. "As I've heard it, your kind have a reputation built around yourselves on your penchant for draining the human body of blood. The biological properties that your body must go through to sustain itself on such an inadequate diet should be nothing short of remarkable. Although, I've also heard that your very existence requires workings beyond the biological. Mysticism isn't a science I've been too familiar with over the course of my years of study, but there are volumes and notes on vampire lore I've been taking great interest in. The most difficult part about reading them was to separate the truth from superstition, but I believe I've gained good knowledge on most of your kind's traits."

Spike rolled his eyes. Doctors and scientists were not high on his list of people he could tolerate as acquaintances. "Right. Can we move on from your little Vampire Fanatics Club, or are things going to get duller?"

"I'd like to know your name."

Spike was on his guard at that. He didn't know how much these people knew about him, how they would react if they could connect his name to his history. Hell, anyone with a book even half decent when it came to vampire lore would probably have read something about him. "I've got a few of 'em." he replied carefully.

"Well, I'd like to know what to call you," Ramsden offered. "We tend to be on a first-name basis with all of our subjects. And I can assure you that revealing your name will have nearly no effect on what we plan to do."

"And what's that then?" Spike queried with a raised eyebrow. "You gonna play more bondage games with me? 'Cause I can tell you right now that you're definitely not my type, Grandpa."

Ramsden didn't so much as blink in surprise at Spike's comment. "There's absolutely nothing sexual about my interest in you." he stated. "Now, would it be possible for me to get a name out of you?"

Deciding he had nothing to lose (and not really looking forward to being called "you" all the time), Spike raised his chin fractionally as he answered. "Spike."

"Interesting." Spike resisted the urge to roll his eyes again -- this man's attitude was getting really old, really fast. "I do remember seeing that name somewhere."

"Yeah, there might be somethin' about it under a cross reference of 'vampire' and 'soul.'"

Ramsden, entirely eager, took a strange device from his pocket that looked like a pocket notebook. "Cross reference 'vampire' with 'soul.'" he said to the item.

Spike blinked. He had just been acting sarcastic when he had made that comment, not expecting in the least that the man actually had the means on hand to follow the suggestion. He craned his neck forward as far as it could go, trying to see what the thing was doing. A loading sign was on the screen, and then what he figured were results popped up.

Ramsden pressed an arrow on the pad and the screen shifted down the results. He came to one that Spike could clearly see that read "William the Bloody" and had "Spike" in parentheses next to the name. He watched the doctor guy press another button, and then a bunch of text began scrolling by. It was smaller font and Spike couldn't read it, so he settled for watching the bloke's reaction to whatever it was he was reading, while being silently surprised at what was clearly an example of the lengths of technology the world had gotten to. He didn't remember ever seeing one of those toys on the market, not one with information so readily accessible, so easily commanded. Would have come in handy, especially for the Scoobies and all their days flipping through page after page of failed research. He wondered if it had any video games on it.

After several utterances of exclamation mixed in with multiple eyebrow raises, the man finally looked up from whatever he was reading.

Spike sneered at him. "Read anything you like?"

"Much." Ramsden said, placing his fancy toy back in his pocket. "But there's too much information to read in one instance. And unfortunately, your previous...'handlers' were unaware as to your true uniqueness, even though it seems you are quite the famous vampire, Spike."

Spike was getting tired of this, and his arms and shoulders were starting to cramp. "Yeah, yeah. So you should also know that as famous as I am, I have people and demons who are going to wonder where I've gone, I stay missing too long. Friends who would think nothin' of barging right into your pathetic little fluorescently lighted underground project and sending the place to hell to break me out."

"Oh! Thank you for reminding me." That annoying smile had come back onto the doctor's face. "I'd meant to tell you sooner, but I got distracted." He placed both of his hands in his pockets. "It's likely that you've no clear recollection of just how you ended up in our...well, I suppose 'clutches' would be the word. But you've been frozen in cryogenic sleep for a very long time, Spike. You were captured on the place you know as Earth by ancestors of the same people who are running this program today. They put you into stasis, to save you for the future. And now it is the future. More specifically, several centuries into the future."

"And I'm supposed to believe that?" Spike snorted. "Sorry, mate, but you're going to have to try out your little fantasy psychological nonsense on someone else."

Ramsden pulled out the electronic notebook thing again, waving it in front of Spike's face. "I'm going to take a wild guess and assume you've never seen anything like this before? That's because when you were last awake, this item did not exist. Your Earth, we now call Earth-that-was. Its resources were drained due to an overpopulation of the human species. We were forced to leave, find a new solar system, and terraform new planets so we could live safely. There are now nearly four dozen inhabitable planets in our system."

Spike stared incredulously at Ramsden for a few moments, before he burst out laughing. "That's bloody priceless is what that is, mate. You ever think about writing a script for that one?"

The doctor was not smiling so much now, but his voice was still light hearted as he spoke. "Remain skeptical if you will, Spike. I just thought you had a right to know that nothing is as you remember it. You've been unconscious for hundreds of years. All of your friends -- the non-immortals, anyway, -- have died. The only vampires who have crossed over from Earth-that-was are those in this facility." He leaned closer to Spike, his voice getting softer. "Your friends aren't coming for you."

Spike had gone quiet at the sound of the man's vindictive tone, his own doubts beginning to squirm into his thoughts. But there was absolutely no way! It simply wasn't possible.

The man grinned again at Spike's look of silent fury. "Don't worry. I promise that you will eventually be given view to the outside worlds. Then you'll realize that every word I've spoken is true. Until then..." Ramsden reached into his pocket (just how many things could he fit in those?) and withdrew a packet containing a very familiar liquid.

Spike's stomach was instantly at attention. It suddenly felt like he hadn't eaten in days -- which, if this guy's ludicrous story was true, was a bit of an understatement.

The man tossed the blood at his feet, then gave him one last look before turning to exit the cell. The guard followed suit, and the door was shut and locked, leaving him alone once more.

The shifting sounds in the wall started again, and the chains began to slip out from their holes. Spike let out a small breath of pleasure as the tension in his arms and back was relieved. He crouched down as soon as the chains allowed, reaching for the blood. He paused a fraction of a second, memories of drugged blood flitting through his mind. But he knew that if they had planned to drug him, there was nothing he could do to stop them, anyway. So there wasn't any real need for him to put himself through further torture by self-induced starvation.

Spike rolled his shoulders once to get the last kinks out, then reached down to grasp the packet of blood. He vamped and bit into it, giving a soft growl of pleasure as an exquisite taste ran over his tongue. There was a small niggling of despair at the back of his mind when he realized they were feeding him human blood, but there was nothing he could do about it and they probably got it from donations from a hospital or some such. He desperately forced away the quiet voice in his head that was telling him that all it would take was a few more days of the stuff for him to become addicted.

And if they decided to keep him on it for the long term...

Spike shut his eyes as he sucked the last of the liquid from the plastic, and then threw the remains across the room, wiping a hand across the back of his mouth and quelling the urge to roar or punch his fist into the wall.

Instead, he crouched down into the corner of his cell, facing the door, trying to deny the continual increase of fear rising within him.

TBC...


	2. Chapter 1

Title: Bees, Flowers and Fireflies

Rating: R

Warnings: Violence, torture, mind control, sexual situations

Pairings: None outside Firefly canon, so far.

Disclaimer: They're Joss's, not mine. No money made.

Summary: Serenity's crew prepares for a job.

* * *

**Chapter 1**

_One year later..._

He supposed it was a bit selfish of him to think about voicing his complaints at this time. After all, the last planet they had docked at could hardly have been considered poor or uncivilized. And perhaps he should have been used to it by now, coming to the border planets.

Plus, any planet outside of the Alliance's closer surveillance was good, right? Never mind the kidnappings and the beatings and the gunfights.

But Beaumonde? Again? The last time they had come here was to drop off Inara at the city of New Dunsmuire. And _that _had been a much-loved tourist city. But this time, after sending the Companion off to do her work, the rest of Serenity's crew had gone to do a job on the other side of the world. The rest of Beaumonde was nothing but factories and polluted air, water, and soil.

And that was in addition to all of the aforementioned dangers.

Allowing himself an expressive sigh that did nothing to soothe the edge off his anxiety, Simon turned and made eye contact with River as she stepped onto the bridge. Her steps were slow and leisurely and graceful as she walked across it. She kept her hand levitated over the safety rail, so close and yet never allowing her fingers or palm to touch the shining metal. Simon observed her descent down the stairs, and the look of exhilaration that came over her face as she came down.

Here he was, silently worrying himself out of his head, while she managed to take joy out of the slightest motions -- even despite her handicap.

As she made the last few steps, Simon watched the deep purple dress billow around her legs like it was alive. It reminded him of the prized fishes of the Cambersons' estate, with their long and flowing elegant fins. River had always loved staring at them for hours, just to watch the way their fins moved.

"Betta splendens."

Simon looked up to his sister's face. Her head was tilted to the side as she stared at him, her mouth drawn in a soft smile.

"They live for dancing." She stepped onto the cargo bay as she spoke. "The mating ritual consists of the male making a nest of adhesive bubbles on the surface of the water and prominently displaying his fins to the female." She paused, and fisted her hands into one section on her skirts, looking as if she was contemplating pulling it apart. She quickly let it fall safely from her hands before Simon could react. "The male will often rip the female's fins to shreds, sometimes killing her. Fins and scales and blood and hunger. All shredded and consumed."

Simon felt his expression slip into one of mild horror. River was still wearing the same smile on her face as she gazed into his eyes. "Grace and violence. Beauty and death."

The sound of approaching footsteps and muffled voices drifting towards them redirected their attention to the door on the bridge. Soon after, Mal, Zoe, Wash, and Kaylee stepped through it.

Simon looked at River again, finding her drifting to the side of the cargo bay. He was tempted to follow, but sensed that she wanted to be alone. He feared he didn't have the words to say that would help her, anyway.

The others were on the floor, now, and Kaylee stepped towards him, smiling. "Hey, Simon."

Her voice and ever-cheery attitude managed to make his mood brighten slightly, and he smiled and nodded back. Her face wasn't smudged with grime from the engine as it usually was -- not that he thought her any less pretty at those times. She always seemed like the only one on the ship who knew how to smile -- _really_ smile. The way her lips stretched and made her cheeks rise and her eyes brighter. No one else could appear to project such light

"Another fun-filled day of smuggling and exploring exotic sights." Wash said. He paused, and looked to be considering what he had just said. "Well, okay, so not much with the exotic."

"I believe the word you're looking for is 'exotoxins.'" Simon helpfully supplied.

"Simon!" Kaylee playfully gave him a soft punch on the arm. "Beaumonde is a decent place. They gots lots of nice things here."

"Too bad you won't be seein' much of the nice." Mal said. "Most folks in this area live underground, and our customer ain't no different. He's also taken up residence a ways from the cities. Ain't gonna be viewin' many shiny baubles 'less they're with the cargo."

Simon folded his arms across his chest. "And do we _know _what the cargo is, or...?"

"We don't. But if I were you, I wouldn't start on worryin' as to the nature of the cargo, Doctor." Mal mirrored Simon's actions and gave him a steady look to go with his captain tone. "'Sides, Legan's rep is solid. This might be the first time in a long while we take a job don't cause us trouble."

"Sir, don't destroy the moment." Zoe commented in her usual dry manner.

Mal gave her a look, then apparently decided to ignore her remark. The captain instead gave the group a once over. His face fell into an expression of exasperation as he seemed to notice something.

"Where in the hell is Jayne?" He turned to the side to face Serenity's pilot. "Wash, I thought I told you to tell him to get out here."

"And that conversation was rife with giggles and smiles, believe me," Wash said, his sarcastic tone and expression revealing that it had in fact been anything but.

"What happened?" Mal demanded.

Wash shrugged. "I told him he was needed down here, he made some interesting insinuations about my mother and a goat, and then went back to sleep."

Throwing his hands up, Mal moved away from the others and over to the intercom. After bellowing the mercenary's name at the top of his lungs at a volume that had most of them covering their ears and wincing, Mal stepped back towards them. The group waited in silence for a few moments before the tell-tale sounds of hurried heavy footsteps neared. Jayne stepped onto the bridge, his coat in hand and a gun holstered on a haphazardly secured belt. His eyes were wide and there was a visible pillow crease on the side of his face. Simon heard Kaylee stifle a giggle at the sight.

"Cap'n?" Jayne asked, looking guilty.

"I don't wanna hear it." Mal growled. "Just get down here."

Jayne quickly complied, nearly tripping in his haste to come down the stairs and put his coat on at the same time. He joined the rest of the group, trying to catch his breath.

"I'm ready." he said.

"Glad to see that." Mal's brow furrowed slightly as he stared at the reddened mark on Jayne's face.

"What?" Jayne asked.

Mal didn't reply, just looked at the rest of them, making sure he had everyone's attention. "Zoe, Jayne and I will be headin' to the rendezvous point t'meet up with Legan's men. They'll lead us to his place, and we'll do the usual negotiations. Could take a few hours --maybe even most of the afternoon. This guy's clean as far as smugglers go, but I've heard he likes to take his time. So don't start worryin' unless I call you and tell you to, or we're out past nightfall, dong ma?"

Everyone nodded.

"Right then. Let's get to it." Mal said as he moved over and activated the cargo bay doors.

Kaylee fingered a lock of her brown hair. "Shepherd Book's pro'ly awake now."

"Sweetie," Zoe said with a small smile, "everything within a ten mile radius is probably up after that racket."

"Let it never be said that our captain can't wail with the best of 'em." Wash quipped.

"Wasn't wailin'." Mal protested over his shoulder. "That was pure manly screamin'."

------------

Spike crouched in the corner of his cell, trying to stop the shivers resulting from the latest session spent with Doctor Berkant Ramsden. They had been spending the past week perfecting his reaction to the order to submit on command.

_"Good, Spike. Let Doctor Mather get you secured into the chair, and we'll start in a moment." _

It was always the same with making new or enhancing old command implants. He would be drugged into unconsciousness, but he would dream. And through his dreams he could barely register the fact that the pain his physical body was experiencing was entirely disconnected from his unconscious world.

His mind was often terribly muddled after these sessions, and he tended to be extremely weak, and couldn't remember anything that had happened. At least, not while awake. Sometimes he would dream at night -- or what he assumed was night -- and a piece of memory would belatedly come to him, horrific in its cruelty. Burning electricity shooting through his skin or the sharp agony of his head being pierced. He would usually jerk awake, in a cold sweat of fear, only to find himself laying on his cot with the white sheets and blanket, and staring at the white walls of his cell.

And there were the other sessions, the ones that served a more obscure purpose. In these the dreams he experienced were not his to control, nor did they stem from his own mind. He knew because he had never been outside of the laboratory or the cellblock, yet in his dream he would see vast fields, or amazing structures that were sleek and silver, or space ships engaged in battle, or the glow of two moons as they rose up into the night. The dreams he had were never this vivid. And sometimes there was a voice, and it explained things he didn't understand, or recited history to him.

In the early stages the dreams had been gentle, serene. But soon he found himself faced with nightmares of war, of humans shooting at each other, of violence and bloodshed and death. He had wanted to help somehow, but he didn't know which side was in the right. It became clear that the distinction was in the clothing -- one side wore blue, while the other wore brown. As he continued to learn, the images that flashed grew in intensity. A brown-clothed man standing over another dressed in blue, holding a knife in his hand and stabbing downward even as the downed soldier begged for mercy. A group of the brown men storming into a camp of blue, slaughtering without remorse and taking captives to take back to their own camp to torture. A blue-suited soldier, grabbing a human child and turning his back to a bomb, shielding the girl with his own body as it exploded.

He wasn't sure why these dreams were supposed to be significant, but questions on his part lead to answers that were either vague or gave him reason to be uncertain as to their validity.

Those times did not hold as much importance to him as the pain sessions, anyway.

And somewhere along the line, the months and months of torment, confusion and fear, Spike had begun to retreat to a safe place within himself, keeping his essence locked up and leaving, for the most part, a numb shell to react to the outside world. His mind was kept blank, and he didn't focus on anything except the mechanical actions of eating and sleeping and obeying. Because of this, they didn't keep him chained or muzzled as much anymore. Not while he was alone.

There were times, however, when he would find himself suddenly very alert and lucid, times when he remembered who he was and what he was supposed to be. Those were the times that he reassured himself that one day he would escape, he would lull them into thinking they had him completely, when all they had control over was the shell. It wasn't him. He wasn't the same as that mindlessly compliant puppet. And by the time they would finally realized that, it would be too late.

TBC.


	3. Chapter 2

Title: Bees, Flowers and Fireflies

Rating: R

Warnings: Violence, torture, mind control, sexual situations

Pairings: None outside Firefly canon, so far.

Disclaimer: They're Joss's, not mine. No money made.

Summary: Mal meets with Serenity's new prospective employer, while Spike's captivity continues.

* * *

Chapter 2

Abraham Legan's place was rather spacious and grandly decorated for being underground. That suited Mal just fine. A richer client was always a plus. It meant a higher pay, or a small job that wouldn't pinch them too much if it fell through.

Not that Mal was planning on having the job fall through.

He'd seen places like this in the occasional book that Kaylee'd get all keyed up about. They usually had lots of large pictures of the interiors of pretty houses, and she'd wanted to buy one more than once. Mal really couldn't see why -- all they were was pictures. And Kaylee was about as proficient as Jayne when it came to reading, in English or Chinese, and they weren't hardly any little one or two-syllable words in those books.

The rich and pretty life had always caused Kaylee to react with child-like wonder. And this was certainly rich and pretty. Electrical candles lined the hallway they were walking down behind the men sent to meet them at the rendezvous. They cast a dim glow about the hall from their places nestled in intricately patterned holders that jutted from the walls. The carpet covering the floor felt springy and soft under Mal's shoes, and the closed doors of the rooms they passed were large and much more reflective than any door ought to be. The air was warm and smelled woody -- spiced with incense.

_Right. That makes sense._ Mal thought sarcastically. _Hide underground from the pollution only to make and breathe your very own._

He glanced at Jayne and Zoe to see how they were reacting. Jayne seemed engrossed by it all, like he wanted to reach out and touch every new piece of fancy they walked by. Zoe was keeping her eyes forward and her face blank, but Mal knew she had to be silently impressed by all of this expensive stuff kept in an area reserved for the impoverished or poorer businesses. Well, this _was_ a business, he supposed. But it sure as hell wasn't poor.

After what seemed like ages they finally reached what appeared to be Legan's room for negotiations, the men leading them breaking off to stand at either side of the large, open doorway and leaving them to step in on their own.

Mal hadn't thought the ceiling could get any higher. The room was built like a temple, or a church, and the air was cooler and fresher now that they had left the closer walls of the hallway. There must have been an air processor installed somewhere nearby. There was also a huge chandelier hanging in the center of the ceiling. Mal squinted at it. Something was off about the item. It wasn't that it didn't twirl like the usual chandelier, or that it was hanging from the ceiling instead of levitating...

"Shit, Mal," Jayne whispered intensely. "That thing's real!"

Mal blinked. _Well I'll be damned..._ It wasn't an electronic chandelier -- there were actual wax candles sitting on it. And they were lit. Kaylee was gonna have a fit when he told her about this. Not that it meant that much to Mal, but any little that made Serenity's mechanic's eyes and mood light up was always valuable in his book.

He pulled his attention away from the ceiling and took stock of the rest of the room. A few statues, a grand rug, and other fancy furnishings including a large wooden desk sitting in the middle of the room. Sitting at said desk was a well groomed, clean shaven man with brown hair, dressed in a black silk shirt.

_So. This must be Abraham Legan. _

He looked young, especially for appearing to be one of the richer smugglers. But then, people exposed to the more polluted parts of Beaumonde didn't exactly make records with their life spans. Guy probably inherited most of this stuff when his folks died, or grew up with heavy benefits. Either way, considering what business he was in, he had to be good. You didn't get into the smuggling business rich and stay that way if you had anything less than good smarts and good instincts and good luck -- or at least an impossibly high amount of one of the three to offset the deficit.

Standing slightly behind the man and to the side was a pale, slender woman with serious eyes and brown hair that was bound back so tightly that it looked like any more pull would tear the skin of her scalp right off. Legan's bodyguard. Or wife. Either way, obviously not one to be messed with.

"Malcolm Reynolds." Legan greeted with a nod, indicating a few cushioned seats situated before his desk. "Go ahead and have a seat."

Mal moved forward and sat himself on the chair nearest to Legan, making himself comfortable. Jayne followed quickly behind, plopping himself down on the soft pillowed seat. Zoe followed suit, and Mal could see that she had just finished her own sweep of the place and was satisfied that there was no current danger.

"I'm very cautious about who I choose to carry my goods." Legan said. "And since your reputation has been rising exponentially among the inner circles, I thought I'd give you a try. You're very good, from what I've heard."

Mal smiled. He was getting good vibes off of this man, complimentary manner notwithstanding. "Well thanks for tryin' us. Always good gettin' new folks of the less unsavory type askin' for us to do a job." He paused, before quickly amending: "Not that you are in any way unsavory...sir."

Legan raised his eyebrows, his hand reaching down to open a drawer in the desk. He fiddled with a few things in there for a moment, and then the surface of the desk lit up with the glow of a computer screen. Legan began to press his fingers across it.

"Do you need to know what I want you to deliver?"

"No, sir." Mal said with a shake of his head. "Don't ask about the whats, whys or wherefores. We just take the cargo where it's needed."

"Hm." Legan kept his eyes on the text that was now scrolling across his desk. "You've had a few run-ins with the Alliance." Now there was something like disapproval in the man's voice.

Mal felt himself go on the defensive at that, but carefully kept his voice and expression light. "Well, yeah -- I mean, who hasn't?"

Legan glanced up at him briefly, his eyes and tone solemn. "Me." The man pressed a single button on the screen and it turned off before folding his hands and resting his arms over the desktop. "The only thing you need to know about this cargo is that it really needs to get to the places I want it to go. _Without_ Alliance interference. And, judging by your penchant for arousing their suspicion, I'm becoming uncertain as to whether or not you're the carrier I want."

Jayne was shifting like he had an itch, his growing displeasure to the situation obvious. Mal felt his jaw clench at the man's quick change of opinion. "I would have thought you'd have looked over our entire record before askin' us to meet with you."

"I wanted to meet you in person." Legan said with a shrug. "Judge your character for myself."

"Try us out." Mal finished. "Yeah, see, that's all fine and good if you're gonna actually give us the job. But otherwise, you've just had me and my crew come over a week out of our way to visit you. That's over a week of expended resources and not a job in sight."

Legan waved his hand dismissively. "I'll fully reimburse you for your loss, and give you a little extra for wasted time."

Mal felt his anger deflate. "Oh." He glanced at Zoe and Jayne briefly. "Well, then...apologies. Got no problem with that."

"Besides," Legan began, reaching into his desk and taking out a transmitter. "I never said that I wouldn't give you the job. I just said I was becoming uncertain about it." He turned the transmitter on and spoke into it. "Tyler?"

There was a crackle before a man's voice answered. "Yeah, sir?"

"Bring our guests some food and drink, please."

"Be right there."

Legan turned the transmitter off and gazed at them with a small smile, shifting back into a more comfortable position in his seat. "Let's talk about your past dealings with Adelei Niska, and the fiasco of the train job."

* * *

Watching a vampire fight, especially one who had spent the last few months being intensely trained in the more graceful of the martial arts, was quite a riveting scene. Watching _two_ vampires fight, -- especially two with extreme power, -- and fight with _each other_ no less, using this specific training, well... It was nothing short of extraordinary.

Eileen Mather could feel her face breaking into a smile at the feeling of power blossoming and making her insides quiver with excitement. With the close tutelage of Ramsden and the other head doctors, she had learned much over the past year, and lost most of her fear of the vampire subjects. Once she realized how completely they could be controlled, she found herself loving every interaction with them.

Two vampires, dressed in their usual form-fitting uniforms, were circling and throwing blows and kicks like lightning, engaged in deadly combat in the training room. The walls were thick and concrete, and so could stand any disturbance heaped upon them by the fighters. She was standing on the far side of the room, with no walls or shield-protected glass to keep her safe from the two demons in the center. Nothing but the commands they had been given, the conditioning strengthened over months of hard work, was keeping these creatures from causing her damage. Even unintentional harm was impossible, as the fighters kept every move restrained so that even the results of their blows -- like sending their opponent flying across the room -- would never be a danger.

Berkant Ramsden was standing on the other side of the room, watching the fight with equal interest. She knew he as well as her had no fear of harm coming to them.

She watched as a dark haired male vampire gave a powerful thrust against his opponent, who countered by grabbing his wrist and using the momentum given to him by the blow to throw the other over his head. The first vampire turned his fall into a graceful roll, jumping back to his feet before once again engaging in the fight.

Neither vampire had gone into their demon face. It was still too early for either handler to order their respecting fighter to do so. Which was well enough, for Mather found she rather liked staring at the human face of the vampire she was currently commanding.

Spike. Or William, as most of the staff had taken to calling him after learning his real name. Ramsden was the only one who commonly addressed or referred to him using the former.

When she had first seen him, Mather had not expected that William would be so special, despite Ramsden's suspicions. An ensouled vampire. One of only two ever recorded. They had never discovered what had happened to the other, but knew that he was related to William.

The platinum blond hair that the vampire had once sported had since grown out and been trimmed away, leaving him with a head of slightly curled golden brown hair. It made him look even more human, to have his natural hair grown out. His stark paleness did not seem so enhanced, and it brought out his sharp cheekbones.

The vampire that Ramsden was overseeing was getting backed into a wall from a vicious, unrelenting assault of blows by William. These two were their top vampires, but both Ramsden and she knew that William was by far the better fighter and the strongest of any in the facility. The dark haired vampire was desperately parrying the blows, and finally kicked out to get the other away from him and stop the aggressive attack. William jumped back to avoid the blow, his blue eyes unblinking and his brow drawn down as his opponent gave an deep, throaty growl.

As they had gotten further and further along in their training, most of the vampires had begun to revert to slightly animalistic states. They spoke rarely or not at all, although they were not forbidden to talk. The growling and snarling, even while in their human guises, had grew more frequent as expressions of anger. William was the only one who seemed to refuse to do so unless in his demon face.

"_Bian ge_."

_Speaking of which..._ Mather watched as the vampire commanded by Ramsden shifted faces as soon as ordered. She felt a bit of pride and pleasure roil within her at this -- usually an opponent only ordered their vampire to slip into their demon face if they knew they would lose, otherwise. Never mind that William was obviously the strongest vampire they had. The exhilaration and control of being able to command such a powerful -- not to mention extremely attractive -- creature and to have it carry out orders to success was one of the best feelings she had ever experienced. Even if they were just training and testing to ready them for the real work.

Grinning, Mather did not give William the command to change face. He could do well enough without it, and she wanted to be able to admire his handsome face. As the demon-faced vampire dug his bare feet into the floor and launched himself at William, she glanced up at Ramsden, and was startled to find him speaking to a strange man who'd entered the room unnoticed.

Her curiosity and confusion immediately drew up. The newcomer wore a dark blue uniform of a high-ranking individual, and his eyes held the almond shape of one of Chinese descent. His manner exuded a practically tangible feeling of calm and discipline as he leaned over to speak something quietly into Ramsden's ear.

Mather took a long, slow inhale of breath when she realized that this must be an operative. Ramsden had alerted her weeks ago to the possibility of one coming. If the leaders in the Parliament had decided to send an operative in to this section of the facility, that meant that they were preparing for the next step of the program.

Her mood now subdued somewhat, Mather diverted her attention back to the fight, watching the vampires continue their volley of fluid feints and staggering blows and quick blocks. Not for the first time, she found herself comparing the way they moved to a dance. A dance to bright lights and cold tiled floor and grey-blue blurs of clothing. A dance that existed only because it had been commanded to.


	4. Chapter 3

Title: Bees, Flowers and Fireflies

Author: Shylah

Warnings: Violence, torture, mind control, sexual situations

Pairings: None outside Firefly canon, so far.

Genre: Angst, Action/Adventure, Drama

Disclaimer: They're Joss's, not mine. No money made.

Summary: An operative surveys Spike's condition, Mal finishes up with Abraham Legan, and Eileen Mathers has some issues…

Author's Note #1: This chapter contains some information that not everyone will agree on, because it involves a vampire's "need" to breathe, which is a controversial subject because of the thousands of mixed signals we received from the show. So, I'm taking liberties with canon and for the most part turning a blind eye to Spike's reactions to lack of air on I Why We Fight /I .

Author's Note #2: I lost the first version of this chapter when my lap top broke. I had to rewrite it, and was not so emotionally invested in it the second time around. Basically, I was just supremely annoyed that I had to write it again and wanted it up and out of the way.

Chapter 3

The operative, Chrysalis, had issued his approval to his superiors of Spike's progress, along with a few of their other especially well-trained vampires. Some members of Parliament were still unsure of the safety of the training center -- due, in most part, to superstition -- but there had never been any real severe breakouts of trouble. Everything was well contained -- which was more than could be said for the other section of Engineered Defense Deployment Training, or EDDT, as it was called. Many from that section were still in a mild panic due to the escape of River Tam, and the damage she could do, the attention she could bring to them. She and her brother had thus far evaded capture, although there were reported rumors of their sighting.

Ramsden himself had experienced slight anxiety at the news that the girl had gotten out. It had been tested and discovered that telepathy of the purely psychic kind would not work on the mind of a vampire, but that did not mean information about them could not be garnered from the brains of the very human scientists.

Yet Ramsden had also been privy to the knowledge of the effects of the neuro re-imaging on the girl, of her decreased mental stability. The reactions that she had exuded upon such a drastic reconfiguration was the major reason the scientists had thus far decided to leave the entire project running as it had been. If there was any hint of the worse-case scenario of an uprising taking place, the Alliance could smooth it over using the girl's clear lack of sanity. Still, Ramsden was less than impressed with the military's continued failed attempts to locate her. Sighing, he once more focused his attention on the project at hand.

Spike was standing in a closed glass cubicle. It was a very similar structure to the showers the vampire was given at least once daily -- a process which took a matter of seconds thanks to the state-of-the-art cubicles installed. Cost effective, as well, since they weren't quite so popular after people got tired of keeping up with the Joneses -- many still preferred the luxury of warm water and soap.

Spike was glancing around warily, his hands resting lightly on the side of the glass as he watched the scientists working around him. Light shivers danced up and down the vampire's frame -- he'd just been washed, but in a tub of ice water meant to drastically lower his body temperature in order to make the next tests effective. The vampire had been reluctant to spend any amount of time in the freezing water, but stating a few of the simple trigger commands was enough to get him to sit inside the ice for an extended period of time

It was much more of a relief now, that most of the vampire's could be controlled so. During his first days here, Spike would often raise his eyes and meet those of the scientists' in a show of contempt and defiance. Many that were of lesser will or greater fear would look away, but Ramsden had quickly amended that. Several of the characteristics of dogs could be applied to vampires, and thus many of the same training techniques -- you had to look them in the eye, reprimand them swiftly, and be consistent until they lost the bad behaviors. That was the way to establish dominance over a vampire.

And it really was the best course of action, because while the triggers had been planted, the vampires spent most of the time in control of their own decisions -- well, as much as they could be. Ramsden found that while a sentient being that was not completely taken under the control of the triggers had the slim choice of posing a risk, the results were much more efficient. There were theories that a mind that was entirely overtaken could eventually retreat, and leave the rest of the body comatose.

It was for that reason Ramsden preferred to leave as much of the original personality as possible. So it was that it took a lot of pain, coupled with other, more creative punishments such as solitary confinement and sensory deprivation to get Spike's more blatant attempts to challenge the scientists to cease. But it hadn't been easy. One of the scientists, upon hearing Ramsden give a short lecture including the canine behavioral comparison, had suggested castration to rein in Spike's rebelliousness -- jokingly, at first. Later, that same scientist brought the subject up again, without humor, when attempts to bend Spike's will continued to fail.

"What is the necessity of this particular test?"

Ramsden glanced at Chrysalis, who stood beside him, hands folded behind his back, observing Spike. Well-spoken, obligingly polite -- that was how all operatives were trained to behave. If you were unfortunate enough to be on their dangerous side, that attitude could quickly become terrifying.

Ramsden smiled with the knowledge and confidence that he was good enough to never have to worry about being the focus of an operative's mission. "While vampires cannot be killed by most means, there appears to be a throwback from the remnant biological memory when it comes to lack of oxygen. We recently discovered that some, more than others, show signs of asphyxiation when deprived of air."

Chrysalis tilted his head in acknowledgment. "You'll have to forgive me for not being so extensively knowledgeable about the inner workings of vampires." He shifted back to gaze at Spike. "So, they react this way even though their lungs are rotted through."

"All of the specimens have one thing in common -- their brains." Ramsden smiled. "That's the beauty of the mysticism involved in the transition into and living of a vampire. While all other organs atrophy in the transcendence into a demonic state, the brain remains moist, healthy, and fully functional, as does most of the central nervous system. We believe that the key to the instinctual false need for air may lie somewhere there." Ramsden put his hands in his pockets and shrugged. "But, a theory is only a theory until it has been proven wrong, so now Spike gets a turn at giving us a reaction to the absence of oxygen."

As he said so, the whirring began that signaled the release of gas to push out the oxygen. Spike looked down at the ground where the sound was emanating and stepped back nervously as grey curls of smoke began rising. The air was quickly drawn out through a vent via the introduction of more dense molecules, which quickly rose up and surrounded him.

Vestisar was an unusual gas that would cling and condense thickly into a clear film when the temperature was low enough. Since Spike's body could not regulate its own temperature, he was still several degrees below room temperature from the ice bath, and the gas immediately began to bond over his body. As the air was completely removed and replaced with the vestisar, Spike's hands on the glass curled. He closed his eyes as if in pain, but a few seconds later opened them again, his features pinched as he appeared to concentrate on keeping his body's instincts under control.

"Good." Ramsden nodded in satisfaction. "Even without a trigger, this shows us that Spike would not have too much trouble working in circumstances without oxygen. With an inputted command we can bypass this little side effect altogether. Hopefully, we will eventually have vampires working in aiding Alliance cruisers. They could explore dead aircraft safely, be trained to power the ships. On lesser aircraft, they could be triggered to stop breathing altogether, so that those who need to could stay safe."

Ramsden tilted his head, considering, then waved at one of the scientists to allow oxygen back into the cubicle, along with raising the temperature. After a few minutes the vestisar began to evaporate and was removed completely from Spike's form. Spike gasped for breath deeply, his overly biologically instinctive brain became satisfied that it was meeting a need it no longer required.

Ramsden continued talking. "Notably, our sun does not seem to affect them as much as the old sun was observed to do in the legends gathered from Earth-that-was. Still, unfortunately, any extended exposure to sunlight without proper protection does result in severe burns and, in some cases, death. But only for extended and nearly complete exposure. We have programmed a measure of self-preservation into him -- not so much as to supersede his command to keep his human handlers safe, of course."

Chrysalis was silent, his dark eyes boring into the vampire that did not remove his gaze from the floor. Spike may have not needed air to survive, but the increase in obedience he was currently displaying indicated he was hoping to avoid another such test.

Ramsden continued as Chrysalis moved forward for a closer look. "The problem is, at times, Spike does not know the difference between when we're simply testing him and reprimanding him for incorrect behavior."

As the operative continued to stare, Spike suddenly shuddered all over. For a moment Ramsden thought the gesture was meant to indicate that Spike was still cold, but then the vampire began raising his head. Ramsden frowned as he watched the vampire make direct eye contact with Chrysalis. Spike's expression was unreadable, but his gaze was unwavering.

There was something chilling, even to Ramsden, in Chrysalis's voice as he spoke. "I think he knows more than you give him credit for."

Feeling slight anger that one of the projects should find it in himself to be disobedient at this point in time, Ramsden motioned to the guards that stood at the door to the room. The cubicle was opened, and one of the guards gave a short command. Spike instantly turned to face them and dropped to his knees, and one held up a shock prod to the vampire's neck. Spike convulsed and fell to the side as it charged, arching his back and grimacing in pain.

When Chrysalis turned to him in silent question, Ramsden nodded towards Spike. "It's imperative that we engage in chastisement as soon as a mistake is made. It gives the subject no confusion about what it did wrong, and helps strengthen the proper associations with the action so that it isn't repeated."

Another order was issued by a guard and Spike forced himself onto his feet. Cuffs were placed around his wrists and a muzzle was placed on his face before they lead him out.

Chrysalis silently watched them go before addressing Ramsden. "If it suits you, I'd like him on the ship by the end of the week."

A swirl of pride rushed through Ramsden. "Done."

------------

Mal shifted as the position of sitting with his chin on his hand steadily gained discomfort. Abraham Legan sure liked to talk. The man had given them key details about where and when he wanted his cargo delivered -- and, by Mal's estimate, this entire sojourn was resulting in the equivalent of three jobs. Legan didn't have much to worry about when it came to money, and the job would keep _Serenity _busy for at least a few months.

Legan was still yammering on, although Mal was only listening with half an ear now, because the man was just overviewing the jobs they would be doing, despite the fact he'd given them a detailed list about said jobs, and would be checking in with them from time to time to go over their next steps. When Legan had mentioned that he was going to do all that before he'd even begun describing the job, Mal had felt a little irritated, thinking that the man was implying that they were too simple-minded to follow a few instructions about a drop-off. But as Legan had gone into a complicated spiel about the many different drop-off points they were to visit, which packages went where, and which messages to give to certain people, Mal found himself a bit grateful. He'd only had a major job like this once or twice in the past -- most people of Abraham Legan's supposed status didn't usually go underground in their dealings. The man was clean, and though Mal's policy was to leave questions unasked, this was one deal in which he would have been interested in knowing what secrets lay behind the brown eyes of the young man who seemed to have it all.

When they finally reached the all-important discussion of payment, Mal was aching to get the deal over with so he could stretch his legs and get the hell back onto his ship. Jayne had been fidgeting nearly the entire meeting. Only Zoe was entirely comfortable with sitting so completely still for hours at a time.

"Money for your flying expenses will be provided upon your departure." Legan said. He'd stopped fiddling with the computer-desk and was leaning across the now-blank surface on one arm as he sat. The woman was still standing at his side, her stance practically frothing with discipline. Mal had long decided that she was indeed Legan's bodyguard. "For every drop-off you complete, I will give you a fraction of your payment. If you are unable to follow through with a drop-off for any reason, you forego that fraction. If I feel that you are not up to your best work at any time, I will cancel the job and sever our ties."

"There'll be no call for severing." Mal said. "We have our shaky spots, but we always come through on a job."

"Except in Mr. Niska's instance."

"Yeah, well -- already agreed on the fact that the man is a bastard."

Legan didn't so much as crack a smile. "My men will see you out with the cargo. If you find you have any problems whatsoever, don't hesitate to contact me."

Apparently, that was all that needed to be said to end their meeting. Legan pulled up his fancy touch-screen on the desk again and simply no longer acknowledged their presence. Mal glanced at Jayne, who looked confused, and even Zoe was showing a tinge of uncertainty as they continued to sit.

Finally, Mal shrugged and stood, guessing that there was nothing to be done about an employer who felt like being rude. The others followed as he headed towards the exit, where a couple of men stood waiting to escort them out. He looked back once to find that Legan had not so much as glanced in their direction, and the woman who stood beside him was now gone.

Mal turned his eyes back forward and felt a shudder run up and down his spine for no apparent reason.

------------

Eileen Mathers looked at the door with the single window that lead to William's room. She felt a great feeling of mixed pride and disappointment following the announcement that the project's greatest specimen would now be going out into controlled field sessions to further his training. Ramsden had given her permission to go in and see William one final time before he was taken with the operative.

Sighing, she turned her key in the lock while scanning her palm, and the door clicked as it unlocked. William was sitting on the edge of his bed, staring at the flat broadcast screen that had been installed especially for him several months ago. What the device played for the vampire was severely restricted, but he had access to a handful public programs and even a news channel -- all Alliance coordinated. It was another way to allow William to learn about the outside world, and it kept him entertained between training sessions.

Blue eyes did not so much as flicker in her direction as she entered, but the vampire did stiffen and turn off the broadcast screen with the small remote he'd been allowed. Smiling, Mathers stepped forward so that she was in front of William. He kept his eyes lowered, staring at the grey-blue material of his form-fitting uniform.

"William, look at me." she said, not unkindly.

William did so, but his eyes were half lidded in a tired sort of resignation.

Mathers reached out and traced her fingers down his cheekbone. "I'm going to miss you." She stroked William's hair as if he was a favored pet. He did not so much as twitch at her actions, and kept his eyes on her as commanded, even though words spoken in English did not force his obedience.

So compliant, so strong, so beautiful. To have this creature as her bodyguard would have been a dream. Whomever had control of him would be very lucky indeed. But even if she would never see him again, for now she was to be allowed her one last taste.

Wrapping her arms around William's shoulders, she lowered herself onto his lap. His eyes flickered with emotion -- surprise, confusion -- but he did not push her away. He'd come a long way from the snarling and resistant demon that she'd seen over a year ago. Smiling, she stroked behind his ear before leaning in and whispering "Bian ge."

His eyes flashed to their blank obedience, and bones shifted in his forehead, his irises rippling into yellow. Placing a hand behind his head, Mathers gently pressed his mouth onto her neck, her insides fluttering in a rush of natural fear from the fangs she could feel behind those lips, battling the knowledge that he was completely hers to control, if just for this one last moment.


End file.
